


lessons on loving the ocean

by zombiejelly



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Drabble, Eating Disorders, Hope, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejelly/pseuds/zombiejelly
Summary: therapy session excerpts: from the cold & into the warmth.





	lessons on loving the ocean

_“so tell me, what does it feel like?”_

an exhale. haze within cold eyes. cold feet. cold fingers. blue, specked with violet, brown, gray... poor circulation of blood. poor visualization... of what? exactly.  
too fragile to move. not in a good way. don’t confuse it with softness, calamity, daintiness... it’s a disease, nothing else. he knows, but he’s trying to believe it- being breakable is not (not!) a virtue.

a faint shrug of pointy shoulderblades. baekhyun can’t move much. it’s too heavy, too slow. always feeling like stones, like marble and bulky waters instead of feathers and snow. thank the gods that gravity doesn’t kill because otherwise he’d sink into the soil of the earth with the burden he’s carrying.

_“come on. you know.”_

he does. there is little energy to talk. he’d rather do a couple jumping jacks, a squat or two- energy wasted makes him desperate all through. early sunset in the fog outside. the dark engulfs quicker when it’s cold. he wishes for spring with each breath. the heater is fine but it won’t hold... at least not for long.

he doesn’t remember when he started to speak.

_“it’s an eternal walk on a really thin line between sick pleasure and death... i don’t know when it started being a chore but i can’t seem to stop...”_

oversharing. overbearing. he’s been offered tea but they only have it sugared. too bad, he could use some emptiness that a faked full stomach leaves. living on mint and void space is something he’s very good at. so is counting, counting, counting... what used to be ice skating is now contemplating. what used to be romance is now self-obsession. what used to be... family is now a room full of people with worry instead of eyes.

_“and why are you here?”_

the tears are blocked. clogged. somewhere between mornings of cold black coffee and alternating ripples of consciousness and blank. black. blank. black. ad nauseam.

_“it doesn’t feel good anymore. i... i was never colder than this.”_

nobody said hypothermia can freeze the heart. the soul. the essence. there’s nothing there anymore. nothing gold or bold or chocolate brown like little baekhyun used to be. just cold. sold. twenty, but anciently old.

*

_“so, what does it feel like now?”_

spring has been delayed. the weatherman looked tired on the screen. but baekhyun moves his hands as he speaks.  
winds are blowing harder than ever. wild, magenta, rolling across trees and sidewalk bumps. crossing the street he could smell the warmth somewhere in the air from afar. (perhaps signaling the things to come.)

_“i’m constantly sad for no reason. i keep throwing things. so many... walls... i don’t know how to escape. i keep wanting to quit and then blaming myself for it.”_

still counting. still hiding. but throwing bombs from inside the hole. punching fists through his own brain. learning... without checking. learning... not to check. not to doubt. freedom will come... sometime.

his aura is intangible. uncatchable. manifesting somewhere far in the future where the mirror won’t tell lies. it might show ocean where he’s wanted to be a river but he might be okay with that once he’s there.

_“i’m trying to forgive... trying to hold onto the hope.”_

still terrified. gut a knot the size of a mountain. firm. hard like the times are. great like the distance between where he is and what he wants to become. like the ocean... deeper than usual. darker than most. more sensitive... more lost.

_“i’m trying to embrace the fact that i don’t have to die to be loved.”_

the rain that falls with the winds is sweet. the puddles will dry up in time... so will the river, maybe. but the ocean won’t.

*

_“so, what does it feel like... to be alive again?”_

learning to swim has been the hardest. choked so many times. floated... on the surface, too. sank to the bottom to find that the algae speak tongues he’d never known before. every day is now a lesson on loving the ocean.

_“i am teaching myself that there is no such thing as ‘too much’ of me.”_

sparks in the water. through and through the crevices of the skin he used to abuse. the calculator is thrown somewhere to the back of his brain. unused. diving through so much salt and fuse... but he doesn’t smell dead anymore. he doesn’t want to, either.

_“i’m not fine with everything yet, but... i could be. i can be. i can see it now. and that’s plenty.”_

he smells like the sea. like the tender waves of wars won. like... birds on the horizon in a warm sunrise. warm... like a breeze. with eyes that don’t close at ‘hello’ anymore.

 _“i truly believe that i’m going to be okay_.”

even next winter. and perhaps, with a little bit of luck: every winter that’s yet to come.

**Author's Note:**

> not the best. but written from the heart. self-help is important.
> 
> (always choose recovery.) 


End file.
